


Favourite

by sweetpeapoppy



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:57:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetpeapoppy/pseuds/sweetpeapoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenson's a photography fan, and his favourite subject is more than willing to give him something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favourite

This was getting unbearable. It wasn’t like I minded these signing sessions, it was always great to catch up with the fans and the drivers always had a laugh about what they were given. I had quite a sizeable pile of tee-shirt, hats and unmentionables under the table, most were unwearable, and I didn’t feel like parading the ‘Fuck me Button’ shirt around the paddock. Although I’m seriously tempted to pull a few poses in that one back at the hotel later.

I tried to shift in my seat to dissipate the pooling warmth in my stomach, I can’t stand this for much longer, but a glimpse at my sponsor’s watch lets me know I’ve got a while to go yet. Shit. This is so unfair and I need to find something to concentrate on otherwise I won’t be able to leave my chair. The fans, more signatures. I’ll focus on that. Easier said than done when the cause of my growing discomfort is sat so close.

“Thank you.” I manhandled the glitter laden poster over the table from a very excitable girl. “It’s very good, lots of work obviously.” I quickly scribble my name across my face and hand her the card she had been queuing for. And of course Mark had something to say.

“Does sexy Jenson like his poster?” His lips were dangerously close to my ear as he whispered to me, and with his breath hot on my neck I was forced to accommodate a little more in my jeans. My stomach lurched, his comment about me being sexy should shock me, it would if another driver had said it. But I wouldn’t want another driver to say that. But I don’t think I’m sexy, I’m certainly not bad looking but Mark has a unique masculine edge. When he swaggers around the paddock the girls bite their lips (like I do), fumble over their words (like I did yesterday) and follow him about (I lock myself in my room). This is too much, and now his aftershave won’t leave my brain alone. It seeps in, settles and short-circuits my concentration.

I can’t stop my cheeks from burning so I forced myself to channel what dignity I have left into getting through the last half hour of signing autographs. What does Mark say? Head down...arse up. Oh god, that image. Huge mistake. Shit, shit, shit. I’m going to be here all day wishing this down. I promise myself one look before getting on with the job in hand. But I just had to witness his pink tongue dart out and lazily run across his lower lip, and that absent minded action meant I had to pull my chair in. Shame I’ll never get to feel that tongue run the length of my...“Hi, of course I’ll sign that.”

\---

I thank god when the last fan filtered past us all, a few brief words exchanged about the aerodynamic potential of our new upgrades were just enough to calm me down. I had to plead with my body to be a fully fledged adult just long enough to get me back to the motor home so I could sort myself out. This whole situation was getting ridiculous, I can’t have these feelings for another driver, my competition, a rival. It wouldn’t be this bad if he hadn’t have won in Monaco last year.

The video of him and Vettel jumping into the marina and Red Bull pool was replayed far too often to just be a means of psyching myself up for the next race, but those who caught me looking fell for the excuse. That suited me fine, I could continue to live in my bubble of denial uninterrupted. And that bubble was inflated significantly when I made the questionable decision to offer my congratulations in person. A quick tap on his door was enough to gain entry into a room heaving with testosterone, not unexpected considering the win but what stopped me breathing was the way it was packaged. Dripping wet, he was only just covering his body with a towel, completely at ease with himself he didn’t feel the need to rush. An hour later my wrist was screaming in ecstasy.

“Come on mate, all the girls have gone now.” Mark slapped me out of my daydream, ironic considering what I was imagining his hands doing. As I silently pray that I can leave the protection of the table I decided to distract myself by counting each step that got me closer to the sanctuary of my room. 15, 16, 17, 18, you can do this, just ignore him, 46, 47, 48, 49, I wish he would stop talking about that, 71, 72, 73, 74, please stop talking Mark, 124, 125, 126, 127, since when was the word mate sexy? I had one foot on the first step into the relative safety of the McLaren motor home, but I couldn’t quite escape his touch.

“I’m getting a drink with Fernando if you wanna come mate.” He asked brightly, but he must have realised I wasn’t paying attention and tapped my shoulder to grab my attention.

“No thanks.” Mark shrugged his shoulders as I mumbled my reply, although I thought a little more disappointment crossed his face than usual, but it must be down to what’s up with me.

“Enjoy your alone time then, sexy Jense.” His voice rasped deeply. My whole face lit up as both him and Fernando began laughing, thing is it wasn’t because I was embarrassed, it was the way he emphasised my name. A delicious elongation of my nickname weighed heavy on the hiss. But short of declaring my undying lust for him right there in the paddock, I let everyone think he had hit a nerve and quickly escaped.

\---

“Hey, Jenson. I’m sorry mate.” One hand is comfortably wrapped around my cock as he calls through the door, I execute another stroke as his lilting Aussie accent hangs in the air. “Come on, let me in.”

“I’m fine.” My voice strains as my cock twitches involuntarily to his deep voice, I have no control over my body as I lie on my bed, picture of Mark in hand. It’s sick and twisted, but the crumpled image bends my mind.

“Yeah, whatever. Just let me in mate. I’m behind enemy lines here.” His persistence and rising panic in his voice spurred me on unexpectedly. I shut my eyes tightly in an attempt to shut his presence out. I want him on me, in me, not the other side of the door just being some other driver on the grid.

“I’m fine Mark, see you later.” I want him to go away, I want him to leave me alone so I can get this over with, so I can function free of the thought of us wrapped around each other for the rest of the day. Until tonight at the very least.

“Jense, I’m coming in.” The metal handle rattled as he made his entrance.

“No!” There’s nothing to cover myself with, I don’t even have time to hide the picture. Why didn’t I lock the door? My chest constricts, I think I might be dying.

\---

“Jenson...I...is that?” I can barely bring myself to look anywhere else but the floor, Mark burst in to find me pleasuring myself to a well-worn photo of him wearing that towel. He strides over, seemingly unaffected by the fact I’ve got my trousers around my ankles, and plucks the photo from between my sweaty fingers. “This is me.” His voice breathless towards the end.

My face burns so much it feels like I have had acid poured over it, my skin prickles and my eyes threaten tears. Despite this torture I’m painfully hard, he widens his stance before me as his studies the half naked image of himself, undoubtedly smug with the knowledge I secretly lust after him. He shuffles forward, his clothed leg touching my bare one, electricity courses through me and I could cry. I’d imagined a million scenarios as to how he found out, but this wasn’t one of them, it was supposed to me finding out that he wanted me after all these years. I wanted to find him naked and whispering my name.

“Is this what you like?” Is this how you get off?” Mark’s tone is dismissive and my heart aches as he mocks me, of course he does, how can I face him again? “Didn’t have you pegged for this Jenson.” His voice dropped an octave and I shiver in response, he moves closer and invades a little more of my personal space. My legs are draped together over the edge of the bed and he now stands either side of them, one hand on the wall he bends over and claims what’s left of my personal space.

“Sorry.” My whisper is hoarse and hardly registers above the tension.

“You should be.” Day old stubble grazes my still flushed cheek as he echoes a threat. “All these years and I thought you just admired my driving skills.” My breath catches with hope and possibility when he offers a trace of comfort. He still had that photo in his hand as he continues to speak, “is this your favourite?”

Without waiting for my answer he stands up with a flicker of thought crossing him, and moves away and heads immediately for the door. Brain finally in gear I hop up and drag my company approved trousers up rapidly, if he opened that door everything could be ruined. My relief is palpable when all he does is lock the door, my sigh pulls Mark’s attention back to me and the wave of disappointment across his face allows me to feel smug. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” He places the battered photo on my cluttered desk and pauses. “You know when that photo was taken, you had just called me untouchable.” He looked at me in a demanding way, straight through my soul.

“Yes. You were that day.” He’s still untouchable I tell myself. He knew what I was thinking, a set of hazel eyes penetrate me deeply as he discards trainers and socks, thrown to the four walls I surrender myself to the situation. I have to. He silently tugs at his tee shirt and in an achingly slow fashion he reveals inches of toned, tanned flesh. My eyes are glued to the lengthening trail of hair that tells me more is to come, and as soon as it scattered across his chest his eyes fix on my crotch, guided by my hand that is absently rubbing the hastily zippered fabric.

Bare chested, he lets a hand arrogantly slide down his body and rest across his dark blue jeans. I muster enough strength to stand up so I can mirror his actions and remove my shirt, fumbling it gets stuck over my face in the panic to play it cool. He takes advantage, I suppress a shiver as his fingers skim my waist and move higher, but I can’t hide the effect of his touch when my hips jerk forward. I sense his smirk as a pair of hands capture mine above my head and guide me towards a wall, a gentle thump and I am bound, tied and under his control.

A single hand releases and it travels down my fabric covered face. A thumb untangles the neck from under my chin, but he only allows it to go as far as my nose. It’s tight and I can’t breath until he runs the same thumb across my lips, sucking in a lungful of air I clumsily grind against him in response. Featherlight. The same body that can withstand G-forces can’t fight his delicate touch, and it betrays me further when his breath burns hot against my face. Grinding my cock into him confirmed the effect he was having on me.

“Jenson.” He whispers as I pray this isn’t a cruel joke. Trying to respond was fruitless, his lips crushed onto mine in a fervor, my eyes were still blindfolded, my arms still restrained. This could be a dream. I want to touch him, I want to see him, I want him. A flick of his tongue ran across my bottom lip, that same moist pink tongue that took a swipe at my dignity earlier on, and I gasped wantonly. But when I lent into the kiss he pulled back, pausing for breath and leaving me on the edge of the cliff before taking me in again.

I cried out in frustration as his stubble pushed me closer to the edge, only he was free to touch, I wanted my hands to be free so I could finally know how he felt. Fingertips padded along my collarbone and dove behind my neck, his other hand finally released me from my tortuous prison, and my first act was to get rid of my fucking shirt. Heaving it over my head I don’t care to see where it lands, our eyes meet for the first time, over the line, there’s no going back. Never. His soften, as sculpted arms hook around my back and into my hair I mentally whimper, skin on skin. My hands mirror his, feeling out each toned curve of his back as I gravitate upwards, his head buried in my neck I sense his heart quicken.

Strategy change. Prising my fingers off his warm skin I buried one in his trousers and the other encouraged him into another embrace. Hungry lips touch. Willing tongues fight. My hand is full. Mark bucks against my touch, and I tighten it in response just to hear him moan, it’s quiet and intimate. Just for me to hear.

“Yo, Jenson!” Lewis banged on the door. “Time for your close up.” Fuck. In shock I release Mark knowing I’ve got to sound normal, and I can’t around him.

“Be there in a minute.” I force out, but I have to surrender to the gasp in my throat as Mark’s slender fingers hunted for what he saw earlier.

“You alright?” I didn’t have enough control to keep it quiet.

“Yeah. Dropped something on my foot.” Mark knew what he was doing, with his lips pressed against my neck a skilled thumb across my tip rendering me speechless.

“Right.” Lewis didn’t sound convinced, I didn’t sound convincing, Mark just grinned. “Finish up, we’re already late.” I groaned with my eyes, letting them roll to show my frustration. We release each other slowly, I let him walk backwards out of my touch towards his shirt. But he can’t leave, the barrage of rocket red and chrome out there has imprisoned him, maybe this isn’t over, maybe we’ll just have to wait.

\---

My appearance up and down the paddock in a variety of outfits from out sponsor was dutiful, I smiled when I had to and shifted my gaze when asked but my mind was firmly planted on the contents of my room. One bed, one hot Australian and one floor ready to be littered with clothes.

“That’s more like it Jenson.” The photographer caught my sex tinged grin with his lens and waved us off for the day.

“What have you got to be so cheery about?” Lewis and I meandered our way back to the motor home.

“Ah, nothing, just glad we’re finished.” Still wearing the dress shirt and trousers I let my mind wander, vividly imagining what it would be like for Mark to undo each button. Or better still, rip it from me. Hungrily tear it off me, with a pair of lips quickly following. Focus. My room beckoned loudly with promise, the siren call allowed me to brush off an offer of a drink with my team mate easily, something I usually enjoy. But I wish I had gone, there’s nothing worse than returning to an empty room. No note, no explanation, and the only record of his visit was was the lingering scent of his aftershave.

As I resigned myself to a highly awkward weekend with a regretful sigh, my phone sprang into life with a song that I neither liked or thought I had on my phone. That stupid Americana song that Red Bull had an irritating penchant for had wormed its way onto the device, but a cursory glance at the screen revealed all. ‘Mark Webber’ was calling me. My thumb hovered above the green light for a beat, thus allowing my eyes to adjust to the image appearing in front of me. Mark had taken an intensely hot photo of himself, sprawled out on the same bed I was now lying on he was naked and had his hand wra... Mark had rung off, taking the photo away with him.

I hadn’t realised I was breathing heavily until Mark’s body appeared again, I had to run my tongue along my parched lips before I could take the call. The smile in his voice was evident in the assured tone he used, “Thought you could do with a new favourite.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever piece of fan fiction :)


End file.
